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Before Tomorrow Ends

It feels strange writing this, knowing that tomorrow is my last day of school. The last day of corridors that felt too loud at 9am, the last day of pretending I wasn’t mentally counting how many months were left, the last day of being the version of me that existed inside these walls, and the last day of reflecting over the fun I had with the people who cared and the events I loved. Maybe what makes this ending feel even stranger is that two weeks ago, I was lying on the road after a bike accident, staring at the sky and trying to process how fast things can change. I injured my arm pretty badly, and even now, simple things still hurt more than they should. Some movements feel unfamiliar, like my body is still catching up with reality. But weirdly, it didn’t stop me. I think what surprises me most is how different I feel standing at this ending compared to who I was before. Because if you asked me a few months ago who I was, I probably would’ve given you a very complicated answer. One ...
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here's the truth...

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It's time I tell the truth about myself, because I've decided to revamp this blog for a while. I love writing poetry, I do, but I feel that my blog should also be exposed as a personal space where I'm able to explore my thoughts freely without any judgment. Honestly, I doubt who is even reading this blog at the moment, but it allows me to verbalise my thoughts in a free-flowing post so people (who...potentially read this blog...hahaha) can understand my sense of self too! Almost 20 days ago, I turned 18. Yes, the "big" 18, the "legal" 18. My thirteen-year-old self, watching youtube parallel to those covid zoom lessons, would've probably imagined my 18th birthday to be somewhat different. A club, with those fancy lights and a disco ball, popping a bottle of champagne because, well, 18 = alcohol, and wearing a long black dress, swaying through the music and dancing the night away, and so the list goes on. Maybe around fifty people are attending the par...
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Intrepidity

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This feels like a full circle moment because this is my last ever poem in the Navarasa series! I'm quite glad I have the time to write and post a lot more because (well, I have free will), but mainly due to the journey itself - the nights I wrestled with words until they bled meaning, the moments I nearly gave up, the tiny victories when a line struck true.  People generally underappreciate or don't really read these pieces. In fact, I don't own a mailing list, or I really have no clue if I do, but if someone here is out there reading this piece, I'm so grateful for your time and effort to appreciate my writing. I started this journey at the age of 14, and now having some of my pieces published in magazines and am able to develop my blog more, I feel so surreal and happy to have reached this moment.  This final piece from the Navarasa is about bravery. Veera, they say, in Sanskrit. It seeks to capture the pulse of courage that rises in the face of fear, the quiet streng...
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Afterimage

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Here's a birthday special poem of mine! I turn 18 today, and I've reflected a lot on the past year. I honestly went through a lot (and still haven't recovered yet...haha..), but this poem holds what the year left behind, it's my attempt to sit with it - without fixing it, without softening it in any way (and somehow pray I don't just stay in someone's memory). This poem is a tribute to the eighth emotion of the Navarasa, Shanta , which depicts peace, and the slow, uncertain process of arriving there. I hope you enjoy this as much as I enjoyed writing this (minus the tears..oops) Afterimage I keep mistaking memory for direction. Every thought bends back to you, smoke returning to a room already emptied of fire. I called this healing, this circling. As if naming the wound might persuade it to close. My mind learned your shape too well. Every future pauses there, as though peace were a place I could only enter through you. Even hope became a negotiatio...
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Ferment

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I hate writing intros before my poems, but it's exam season right now, and I felt this is the best depiction of my "internal regime" during this season. (So here, enjoy this repulsive fragment of me, distilled and very unapologetic) Ferment The mind curdles before it breaks, a slow souring of thought, where hours sweat and clot beneath the skull’s thin vault Stress coils like old incense overburnt, choking, its ash settling in the lungs of every intention I raise My breath tastes of iron and fatigue, as if language itself has rusted, and syllables scrape the throat when I try to name myself The body knows first. Skin tightens in quiet revolt, muscle recoils from touch, even air arrives unclean And yet, in this congestion of self, a thought of relief moves through me, unwelcome, necessary, almost merciful I despise this wanting, not to be held, but to be emptied Rasa: Bibhatsa (Disgust) - Mridini
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What If?

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What if? What if the night kept its colour? As if nothing was taken from it. As if love didn’t pass through and left it’s outline in the dark I knew you before certainty learned restraint. Called it fate, because   it arrived without asking. What if you learned later how to stay   but you learnt how to leave the same way We loved in fragments rain-slicked evenings, rooms warmed by breath and laughter, hands steadying what trembled. What if in even our lasts felt held by something larger than us. I believed that meant permanence. You searched for me in old songs, in photographs that once carried weight. Nothing answered. I don’t doubt you. That is the quiet devastation. What if you stayed when I was unravelling, not because you wanted to, but because you could. I loved because I couldn’t imagine not. What if you hadn’t offered me an  if ? If feeling returns. If time remembers. Hope, distilled into politeness. If that makes me foolish, let it. I would rather have loved beau...
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Elysium

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Elysium In dusk’s soft hush, a quiet stirs, a warmth that neither sun nor star confers he moves like twilight’s gentle call, unfolding shadows where dreams fall. I see eternity in each quiet flame, a warmth unspoken, without name, and in that gaze, so deep, so vast, I catch a glimpse of futures past. His smile, a hymn, so soft, so pure, that every sorrow fades, unsure, it blossoms wide, like fields in spring, and fills the air with whispered wings Compassion flows in gentle streams, through every word, like tender dreams; his spirit moves as rivers bend, to soothe,   to heal, and   to defend. And when he speaks, my soul takes flight, as if the world were bathed in light a moment held, yet undefined, a tethered heart, a liberated mind. If ever heaven graced this land, it lives in the warmth of his gentle hand, a touch that binds yet sets me free, a silent vow, eternally… Rasa: Shringara (Love)
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